Patrick walked over to the body and was about to remove the sheet when he saw that Lucy was wearing gloves. “You do it.”
“They’re not latex, but it’s better than nothing,” she said.
“You must have been suspicious from the beginning to put them on.”
“Well, a little. The lid is on the pill bottle.”
“So?”
“Suicides aren’t usually so tidy. She could have put it on, out of habit, but then there’s the fact that she took a shower, but didn’t dress. I just thought—be careful. All the training beats it into you.”
“You can say that again.”
She pulled down the sheet. “Do you see it?” She pointed to the mark.
“Yes, but you must have been looking to notice something so small. At first glance, it could be a new pimple or minor skin blemish.”
“I saw it and—” She stopped and turned Vanessa’s head more to the right. “She’s had a face-lift. It’s good work, too—I didn’t notice the marks at first, but I wasn’t looking for them.”
Patrick stared. “I can barely see anything.”
“Like I said, excellent work. But right here under her ear—” She put her finger on the scar. “And there’s minimal tightness, so I think she already had good skin and complexion, no excessive sun exposure. She’s someone who has been well taken care of most of her life.”
“Someone killed her,” Patrick said flatly.
“I think so, but I couldn’t say definitively. We should secure her body and this room.”
“How long has she been dead?”
“One to four hours. Probably closer to three hours.”
“We need to question everyone. But Lucy—if the killer suspects that we’re onto the fact that Vanessa Marsh was killed, no one here is safe.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t think you do. Lucy, you’ve never been able to lie. Let me ask the questions, okay? I’m going to tell everyone that we need to move the body to a cold environment for health reasons.”
“That’s true.”
“Then you can say that.” Patrick rubbed her arm. “Then I’ll say we have no idea what happened, but it looks like an accidental overdose or possibly natural causes.”
“Before I saw the needle mark, I thought embolism or aneurysm.”
“Good—”
“But will anyone believe she took sleeping pills in the middle of the day and accidentally overdosed?”
“Not everyone thinks like a cop, Lucy. We need to search this room now, before we move the body. I’ll need help, Steve and Kyle.”
“Do you think Trevor killed her?”
“The husband is always the first suspect, and often guilty.”
“He just doesn’t seem—” She cut herself off. Killers didn’t always look the part. “I like him,” she said simply.
“So do I. But we’re cops in this scenario. You didn’t kill her and I didn’t kill her. Therefore, right now we’re the only people we can trust. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“I’ll start here. You take the bathroom and their luggage.”
Lucy started in the bathroom. The shower floor was still damp, the hair dryer was plugged in. She put herself in Vanessa’s shoes—take a shower before dinner, dry her hair before dressing. She’d set out her clothes—another indication that she planned to go downstairs to eat. Vanessa’s makeup, jewelry box, and toiletries were organized neatly on the counter. She wouldn’t leave the hair dryer plugged in all day. She would have put it away. The meticulous way the bathroom was set up indicated that.
How did the killer get the needle into Vanessa without a struggle? It had to be someone she trusted to get that close. And what drug could have such an immediate effect that she would have no time to scream or fight back? It would have to have a paralyzing effect. Had she been drugged while lying in bed? Then why had she lain down in the first place?
Maybe Trevor came in and suggested a midday lovemaking session. They got into the bed and during foreplay he injected her. Up close and personal. Intimate. Watched her die. Was she surprised? Did she beg for her life or demand to know why?
There were few convenient drugs that could kill instantly, but if Vanessa was incapacitated that would make it easier for killer.
Lucy stepped out of the bathroom and said, “Patrick, the wine by her bed. We need it for evidence.”
“What are you thinking?”
“She was drugged before she was injected. There’s no food in here, the wine is the only thing.” She took a picture of the wineglass and pill bottle. She’d already photographed the body and the puncture wound. She wished Trevor hadn’t moved the body, because lividity hadn’t set in. She could guess, based on the slight discoloration along the right curve of Vanessa’s waist, that she’d been lying on that side for over an hour when she died. Because Trevor had now laid her on her back, the blood and fluids would be pooling on her underside.
Still, Lucy had taken the pictures and hoped someone with more experience than her would be able to decipher them.
“If I ask Grace for plastic bags for evidence collection, she’ll be tipped off that we think Vanessa was killed,” said Patrick. “I think it’s best we keep the likelihood of homicide to ourselves.”
“I have some Ziploc bags,” Lucy said.
He raised an eyebrow. “You normally carry evidence bags around with you?”
“I keep them for travel. Makeup, toothpaste, shampoo. I have some that haven’t been used.”
She opened the door and was startled when she saw lodge owner Grace and her sister, Beth, in the hallway. Had they been listening at the door? Lucy didn’t think so but she made no assumptions.
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Grace said. “Why did you and Patrick lock the door? What happened to Vanessa? Trevor is distraught—”
“I thought you were going to stay with him.”
“Angie and Heather are with him in the library,” Grace replied. “He didn’t want tea. I gave him scotch. Steve told me you had him call the sheriff. What happened to Vanessa?”
“We don’t know exactly,” Lucy said, obfuscating.
Patrick walked up behind her. “Vanessa is dead, and the sheriff needs to be notified about any unattended death. I can’t tell whether or not she died of natural causes. I don’t know her medical history. I need to talk to her husband first, and then hopefully the sheriff can contact her immediate family and doctor and see if there was some other contributing factor to her death.”
“Oh.” Grace sighed and rubbed her face. “I’m sorry, it’s just so distressing that someone died here at the lodge. Steve is really upset.”
Lucy said, “Steve said something strange. He said, ‘What more could go wrong?’ Do you know what he meant?”
Grace shook her head, but Beth said, “Grace, we can’t keep it secret.” She put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “There have been several mishaps since Leo died. One of our main generators broke down. It was under warranty, but it still required us to close for two weeks before it could be repaired. The root cellar was left open one night and most of our food was eaten by a bear. That cost us thousands, to repair the door and replace the stock. Steve had an accident last month, totaled his truck, and was lucky he wasn’t injured. That boy has been working himself too hard, trying to make this place into everything his father wanted.”
“Leo was special,” Grace said. “He had a way about him.”
Beth frowned. “He also left a lot of things undone, spent all his savings to keep the place up. We can’t simply avoid the seriousness of the situation. And with Steve’s illness—”
“Beth, please!” Grace rubbed her temples. “It’s going to be fine.”
“What about Steve’s illness?” Patrick asked.
“He’s been forgetting things,” Beth said, ignoring Grace’s plea. She lowered her voice. “We think he forgot to secure the root cellar. But he won’t go back to the doctor, and we�
��re both worried sick about him.”
Patrick said, “We need to move the body.”
“Why?” Grace asked.
Lucy said, “The warm house will accelerate the rate of decomposition, and the smell will spread. In addition, there are health issues to take into consideration, as all the bedrooms share ventilation.”
“I didn’t think about that,” Grace said. “But where? How?”
“I’m going to ask Alan and Kyle to help me move Vanessa’s body to the root cellar.”
“But our food is down there!” Beth said.
“Can you bring up as much food as you can store inside? Anything that isn’t canned or vacuum-sealed. Lucy and I will wrap the body securely, to minimize any contamination. And if you have any large plastic sheets, we could use them.”
That would have dual purposes, Lucy thought. It would also preserve evidence on the body for the coroner and sheriff.
Beth paled, and Grace said, “I’ll get it. The food we can’t fit in the lodge, we’ll bring to my house, Beth.”
As they walked down the hall, Lucy overheard some of their conversation.
“You need to sell this place, Grace.”
“It would destroy Steve. I can’t.”
Lucy hurried down to her room and retrieved her baggies—she had four that she hadn’t used—and returned to Vanessa’s room. “Let’s use these judiciously.”
“The wine. I want to save the glass as well—but we can put it in a paper bag.”
“That I don’t have, but there’s stationery in every desk. We can wrap it in that.”
“Good idea.”
They preserved the wine and the glass, then finished searching the room. Lucy went through Vanessa’s purse. She hadn’t changed her driver’s license, it was still under her maiden name of “Russell,” but there was a copy of the marriage certificate. They’d been married in Phoenix, Arizona, last week. The best man was Nelson Russell—Vanessa’s brother maybe?—and the maid of honor was Christina Morgan.
Lucy went through the camera one last time to make sure she had taken all the pictures she thought the police would need. The body, the wine, the pills, the general layout of the room, close-ups of the possible lividity and the needle mark. She’d also taken pictures of Vanessa’s hands and arms, which didn’t indicate that she’d fought back—no obvious bruising, scratches, broken nails, or fibers. She scrolled through earlier pictures and noticed that Vanessa or Trevor had taken a lot of pictures of the grounds—the lodge, the barn, the surroundings. Some were dark and hadn’t come out, but Lucy didn’t delete any in case the police needed them as evidence. She didn’t want any photos to be missing—each was digitally numbered.
The earliest pictures were of Vanessa and Trevor on their wedding day. They seemed happy. Trevor beamed at Vanessa. The wedding was lavish, at least from what Lucy could tell from the few pictures saved on the camera.
She set aside the camera. She looked through Vanessa’s address book, then went through her receipts.
“Anything?” Patrick asked.
“Nothing that stands out to me.”
“I’m going to ask that no one come in the room, and ask for all the keys, but that’s no guarantee that there isn’t an extra floating around.”
“Grace probably has a master key as well.”
“I wrapped her body in the sheet and top blanket,” Patrick said. “When we get the plastic sheet, I’ll have Alan and Kyle help with the body. You find Steve and ask what the sheriff said. Then we’ll talk to her husband, Trevor. It’s time for you to put that criminal psychology degree to work, sis.”
IV.
While Patrick and the others took Vanessa’s body to the root cellar, Lucy found Steve in the lodge’s office. He sat slumped at the desk with his head in his hands.
“Hey,” Lucy said softly, sitting across from him. “You okay?”
He shook his head. Though he had a lot of responsibility, he was still a young man, not even twenty-one, and this situation seemed to be taking its toll. He picked up a quart carton of orange juice that was on the desk next to him and took a long gulp. Drinking from the carton reminded Lucy of her brothers growing up. Her sister Carina would have a shit fit if she caught them, and always found an innovative way to get back at them. Once, Carina poured hot sauce in the orange juice. Patrick had been the brunt of that spicy etiquette corrective.
“Did you call to the sheriff?” Lucy asked.
Steve looked up. He tucked some papers under the desk calendar before saying, “Yes. There’s no way they’ll be here before noon tomorrow, and that’s still contingent on the storm. They’ll know more in the morning. They ran Patrick through their system, I guess, and said he should determine what’s best to do with the body until they arrive.”
“Patrick is taking care of it. We need to close off that room, however.”
“Why?”
“Health reasons.”
He didn’t seem to find Lucy’s answer odd. That she was becoming a better liar didn’t please her.
“Who has keys?” she asked.
“The guests would have two. There’s an extra here. I have a master key for every room.”
“May I have it?”
“I won’t go in.”
“I know, but Patrick wants to control the keys.”
Steve now looked at her suspiciously. “Why?”
“I’m just doing what my brother asked. I’m not a cop.”
He pulled the key from his ring and handed it to her. He then reached over into one of the boxes and handed her an extra key. “I don’t have the other two.”
“We have Vanessa’s, and Patrick will get Trevor’s.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“Anytime a healthy person dies, it’s never a mistake to be extra cautious. But I’m certain the coroner will clear everything up as soon as the body gets examined.” She then asked, “What other things have been going on around here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Upstairs you said—”
“Oh.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “I was just feeling sorry for myself.”
“This has been a hard year for you. When did your father die?”
“Last March. Nearly a year ago, but I still miss him so much.” His voice cracked and he looked away. He took another pull on his orange juice.
“I know. I’m so sorry. Beth told me there had been some mechanical problems, with the generator, then the bear in the root cellar—”
“Grace thinks I left the door unlatched, but I didn’t. I’ve secured that root cellar every night since I was eight.”
“How long have you been feeling dizzy?”
“That has nothing to do with anything.”
“Maybe, but I’m worried about you.”
“Why should you care? You don’t even know me.”
True, and Lucy didn’t have an answer. She was sticking her nose into other people’s business. “I have some medical training, and the dizziness and fatigue and imbalance could be a sign of something serious.”
“Look, I spent three days in the damn hospital in Jackson right before Christmas. They said my blood pressure was a little low, but not dangerously so, and they ran their battery of tests. Everything came back normal ’cept for borderline anemia. So I’m on an iron supplement. Grace shouldn’t be talking to everybody about my problems. It’s all under control.”
“You fell off a cliff today, Steve.”
“I just slipped.”
“For a kid who grew up in these mountains, I think you’d know better.”
“I can’t spend any more time in a hospital. Grace can’t run this place alone, and without at least some guests, we won’t survive the year. I don’t want us to sell the lodge. I can’t disappoint my dad like that. I didn’t think we’d ever be in this position. Dad always had an emergency fund, but—”
“But what?”
“It’s gone. Grace said he didn’t want to tell me that the lodge had been run
ning in the red for the last few years, and he was using his savings to keep it afloat.” Steve put his head back down. “I can’t lose my home. It’ll be like losing Dad all over again.”
#
Looking for Patrick, instead Lucy found Heather Larson in the dining room. The vacationer from the Silicon Valley was loading food on a plate, but no one else was eating.
“I thought I’d bring Trevor something to eat, though I doubt he’ll touch it,” she said. “Still, he’ll need something to soak up all the scotch he’s drinking.”
Lucy winced. He’d be difficult to interview if he was falling down drunk.
“Did she kill herself?” Heather asked, just like everyone else had.
“We don’t know.”
“It’s so awful, either way, but I hope it was natural. For Trevor. He’s such a nice guy.”
Lucy had thought so, too, until his wife ended up murdered. “They both seemed nice, though Vanessa was quiet.”
“She was a bit weird. I never thought she’d kill herself though.”
“Weird? How?”
Heather shrugged. “Maybe I should say she was interested in strange things. Like this morning. Alan and I were up early to take a walk. She was standing by the barn taking pictures through the window.”
Lucy remembered some dark images on Vanessa’s camera, but she had assumed the camera had just gone off in her purse or something. She’d have to look more carefully at the detail.
“And then when I told her Alan and I were going to town, she asked me to mail something for her.”
“And why is that strange?”
“It was a postcard with a short message. ‘You are right. We win.’ ”
That was odd. “Who did she mail it to?”
Heather shrugged. “It went to Phoenix, but I didn’t pay attention to the name. I showed it to Alan, though. Maybe he remembers.”
A gust of wind burst through the house, and a door slammed shut. Lucy ran to the foyer, and saw Patrick and the other two men covered with snow, their faces red. “That was miserable,” Alan said. Lucy didn’t know if he was talking about the weather or moving Vanessa’s dead body to the root cellar by the side of the house.
“Is it locked?” Lucy asked.
“No bears will get into that place,” Patrick assured her and showed her the key to the padlock. He pocketed it, then took off his jacket and hung it on a rack near the door.
Love Is Murder Page 3
